


'cause your white curtains (they're paper thin)

by yeeharley



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Assumptions, Happy Ending, He thinks it is, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Not Cheating, but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeeharley/pseuds/yeeharley
Summary: Yes, Peter, at Michelle." Steps closer. Peter shrinks back, white knuckles gripping the handle of the bag. His back bumps up against the wall."You're never home," Harley hisses. The floodgates are opening, anger spilling out through his every orifice, and he can't pull the rushing hatred back inside where it belongs. "You come home late and sleep in the living room and don't talk to me like you used to. We haven't been on a date in weeks, Peter. You don't have time for me anymore."He steps forward again. Peter looks like he wants to melt into the wall; his face is pale and almost gray and he looks so incredibly scared and cornered that guilt wells up in the base of Harley's chest. He doesn't take a step back, though- he isn't thinking clearly enough for that. In fact, he does the opposite, striding forward so that he's pressing Peter against the wall, hand laid flat in the center of his boyfriend's chest.(Sometimes, Harley thinks, you only understand how much a relationship means to you when you start feeling it slip through your fingers)
Relationships: Harley Keener & Harley Keener's Sister & Peter Parker, Peter Parker/Harley Keener
Comments: 12
Kudos: 283
Collections: Bi Bi Bi. (And everything else), Peter Parker, Potato boi and Spooderman





	'cause your white curtains (they're paper thin)

**Author's Note:**

> :D  
> my tumblr: silver-bubbles

The first red flags start going up around November, maybe December. There’s snow on the ground and lights in the trees and, for the most part, it’s a happy time of year. Harley, as a young child, had spent his Christmas seasons scrimping up his loose pocket change to buy Abby packets of her favorite gum as a gift.

It had been their special thing. 

Macy, even though she’d been working as a waitress for hours, had managed to find extra money and time to spend with and on her children. She’d taken extra shifts to pay for Harley’s new toolbox and Abby’s favorite baseball bat and, even though she had been supporting them on her own, the Keener children had never been wanting.

It’s his first Christmas with Peter as a couple. He’s starting to get excited, thinking about what he’s going to buy him and whether they’re going to spend Christmas together or at the house of one of their families (probably at the Tower with Tony- Tennessee is too far to drive, and Peter is afraid of planes). 

Harley loves Peter. He could beat around the bush and say that _yeah, he really cares about him but it’s just too early in the relationship to tell._

But Harley has never been one to beat around the bush. He _loves_ Peter with at least three-quarters of his heart (he can’t give him everything quite yet, obviously). There are no expectations- Peter doesn’t have to feel as strongly or say it- but Harley is very comfortable using the ‘l’ word.

He hasn’t said it yet. 

He _really_ wants to.

Harley doesn’t understand why he’s been avoiding it. Maybe it just isn’t the right time yet- he might want to save it for something special, like a really nice date or whatever he’s going to get Peter as a gift (it’s going to be good, he knows that).

For whatever reason, he just _can’t._ It doesn’t feel right.

And, now, he’s starting to wonder if it’s ever going to.

-

“You wanna go get dinner?”

Peter looks up from his coat buttons, eyes wide. He’s been wearing it all day for some weird-ass reason (the apartment is _literally so hot)_ and now, he’s focused entirely on zipping it up to his neck like some old grandmother.

“Huh?” He asks, adorably and obnoxiously dumbfounded. “What?”

“Dinner, Peter,” Harley says. “We should go to one o’ those fancy restaurants you like. Make it a date, have some fun.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, expecting some sort of reaction- a laugh would be great, he misses Peter’s giggles- and, to his disappointment, gets none.

Peter does look guilty, though, as he shakes his head gently and finishes lacing up a pair of clunky boots. “I can’t tonight, Harls. I’m sorry.”

He does seem genuinely sorry.

It doesn’t soften the blow.

“Babe, we haven’t gone out in _forever,_ ” Harley groans. He throws himself over the arm of the couch like a dying Victorian woman, hand covering his forehead.

Maybe he’s doing it to hide the downward twitch of his lips and the misty look his eyes get when he’s about to cry. Maybe.

“I really am sorry,” Peter says. “I wish I could.”

“Why _can’t_ you?” Harley asks waspishly.

“I have to do something.”

He shoves himself off of the couch in a fluid, angry movement to stand before Peter, eyes narrow, arms crossed tight against his chest. “You’ve been _doing something_ for days now, Peter,” he snaps. “And you haven’t bothered to _tell me_ about it.”

Peter takes a surprised step back. “Harley, I-”

“Why can’t you _talk to me?_ What could be such a big deal that you can’t tell me about it? I’m your _boyfriend,_ Peter. We’re _partners.”_

The expression on Peter’s face could be likened to that of a kicked puppy. He’s practically _cowering_ , which makes Harley feel a bit bad. The only time he’s ever seen his shoulders shrink in on him like this is when he’s dealing with bullies at school and trying to make himself a smaller target.

There’s a moment where Harley wonders if he’s becoming one of them. He pushes that down with both fists and kicks it until it’s dead, because _no._ As Peter’s boyfriend, he has every right to want to know why he’s leaving the apartment for days in a row, ignoring him, and coming back in the early hours of the morning when Harley’s nearly asleep.

He’s not proud of the fact that his mind goes to infidelity first.

Maybe it’s something about the fact that he knows why his dad left, even though he doesn’t know who he left them for. 

Maybe it’s because he has a crippling fear of commitment from being hurt and left too many times before.

In the end, he doesn't really know which one it is. But he knows that Peter is doing something bad, and it’s hurting their relationship and Harley is _so sick of getting abandoned._

He lets Peter go, then, eyes downcast and mopey. Peter leaves with a quiet apology, closes the door behind him, and locks it with a soft _click._

Harley stays up until he comes home at three in the morning. He sleeps on the couch that night, but he still hears the door open and close and opens his eyes to see Peter moving gently past him.

He’s crying. Quiet sniffles, but still tears.

Peter kisses him on the forehead before he disappears into their bedroom for the night- morning?

Harley fakes sleep and cries on his own.

-

The disappearing continues for about two weeks, and every night that Peter walks out of their apartment, Harley wonders whether he feels good about himself or not. Is he guilty for leaving Harley alone like this? For doing whatever he’s doing and refusing to tell him? Is he disappointed in himself? Does he even _care?_

No. Harley honestly doesn’t think he does. If he cared, he would _stop,_ and he definitely hasn’t stopped.

Once he sees the red flags, they multiply until he honestly can’t stop seeing them. 

Peter acts flighty when he goes to the mall with Harley, Ned, and MJ as a friend date. He whispers to Ned half of the time and won’t tell Harley what they’re talking about. 

The entire time, MJ shoots him pitying looks and glares at Peter’s back. Harley wonders if she knows what’s going on.

He confronts her. She pleads innocent and ignorant, and suddenly, Harley suspects her of _cheating with his boyfriend._ It’s unbased, sure, but he’s angry and hurt and he wants to cry most of the time he’s awake.

Peter doesn’t want to go to their usual hangout spot at the public library. He wants to go somewhere new, and when Harley asks why, he gets all shifty and stops talking for half an hour before giving him some lame excuse about using the bathroom and disappearing for what seems like forever.

Sure, the library ends up being the epicenter of a superpowered attack, but Spider-Man stops it and nobody dies so Harley decides that he can be angry for a while.

Spider-Man saves people and Harley's boyfriend of eight months can’t seem to stand being around him.

He really does pick the good ones, doesn’t he?

The suspicion in Harley's brain continues to build up until he's drowning in it. He's angry, jealous of whoever seems to deserve Peter's time more than he does, pissed at MJ and Ned for not telling him about whatever's going on. Do they not think he needs to know why Peter's ignoring him? Does he just- does he not matter to them as much as he thought he did? Is this friendship thing they've got going something that actually never held any _meaning?_

Harley cares about his friends more than anything else in the world. Knowing that they don't seem to trust him enough to talk to him about something that's _bothering him this much_ really hurts.

His chest feels like it's constantly being pressed on by some kind of invisible force. He's empty, hurting, tired of not understanding. Constantly wondering if he did something wrong to make them avoid him like this. 

Was he not enough for Peter? Did he just... need more? He doesn't _think_ he's needy or annoying or frustrating, and he _knows_ he's a damn good kisser, so that can't be it.

He just- he feels _so hollow._

Peter doesn't come back to their apartment very often anymore. In fact, Harley barely sees him _at all_ at this point. He'll hear him coming inside, and every night Peter will come into his room (it used to be theirs, but now he sleeps on the couch or the ground or anywhere but their bed _oh God_ ) and kiss him on the forehead and tell him he loves him.

It hurts more than it would if Peter just left him.

At this point, Harley wishes Peter would just _leave._ He doesn't have the energy to deal with this anymore, doesn't have the energy to cry over a man who seems to have fallen out of love with him.

_He's never going to get to tell Peter that he loves him._

Harley calls Abby on Thursday and she picks up, just like she always does, even though the call is probably out of nowhere and she definitely wasn't expecting it. He starts crying as soon as he hears her voice, sniffing and sobbing from the kitchen of their apartment in Queens, and thanks every higher power that Peter isn't here to hear him cry.

"Harley, if he doesn't love you anymore, you need to leave him," Abby says after thirty minutes of listening to Harley moan over love lost. "Especially if you think he might be cheating on you with one of your friends. That's pretty messed up."

"I know, but-"

"No buts," she snaps. Abby has been dealing with his moping for her entire life, and she knows a thing or two about dealing with lovesick boys. According to her, the lesbians are superior; she and her girlfriend actually know how to communicate with each other.

_Like he hasn't listened to her crying over the phone about getting a weird color of roses for Valentine's Day. Like the lesbians are any less hopeless than the gays. Superior, his ass._

"If he is cheating on you," she says firmly, "you have to leave him. It sounds like he's doing nothing but hurting you at this point and you're so _unhappy,_ Harley. You have to take care of yourself first."

"Abby-"

" _Promise_ to me that you'll take care of yourself. I won't take no for an answer."

The telltale noise of the door creaking open echoes through the apartment. Peter's home earlier than usual, and Harley quickly wipes the tears from under his eyes. "Gotta go, Abby. He's home."

"Alright. Love you."

"Love you too." 

The line goes dead. Harley heaves a deep sigh and turns around in his seat to see Peter standing in the doorway, fidgeting nervously with a little gold gift bag in his hands, eyes downcast.

"Was that Abby?" He asks, voice shaking. "On the phone?"

"Yeah." He wishes he didn't sound so cold. Can't help it, but he wants to be able to be unaffected. "That for Michelle?"

_Accusatory, much?_

Peter casts a glance down at the bag in his hands and shakes his head slowly, neck and cheeks and the tips of his ears flushing red. Harley used to press kisses to every inch of his skin when he did that, even his ears, because he had loved him so much. So much.

Who is he kidding? He still does.

"Who, then? Your new girlfriend? Boyfriend? Hookup partner?"

Peter's eyes widen, shocked and suddenly teary. He shakes his head again, this time profusely. "Harley, what?" He asks. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

Harley scoffs, pushes his seat away from the table with a loud screech, stands. "Right. You don't know what I'm talking about. Do you think I don't see the way you whisper with them and stare at her?"

"At _Michelle?"_

"Yes, Peter, at _Michelle."_ Steps closer. Peter shrinks back, white knuckles gripping the handle of the bag. His back bumps up against the wall. 

"You're _never_ home," Harley hisses. The floodgates are opening, anger spilling out through his every orifice, and he can't pull the rushing hatred back inside where it belongs. "You come home late and sleep in the living room and don't _talk_ to me like you used to. We haven't been on a date in weeks, Peter. You don't have time for _me_ anymore."

He steps forward again. Peter looks like he wants to melt into the wall; his face is pale and almost gray and he looks so _incredibly_ scared and cornered that guilt wells up in the base of Harley's chest. He doesn't take a step back, though- he isn't thinking clearly enough for that. In fact, he does the opposite, striding forward so that he's pressing Peter against the wall, hand laid flat in the center of his boyfriend's chest. 

He can feel the beating of Peter's heart. How fast it is, fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. Peter swallows convulsively, staring up at Harley with tears in his eyes.

The giftbag is forgotten.

"Harley, I'm sorry," he whispers. "I know I haven't been around, I know I'm not treating you right, I'm _sorry,_ but I'm not cheating on you-"

"Yeah? You could've had me fooled." 

It's a split-second decision, and probably a bad one, but Harley isn't in the right mindset to be making good decisions right now. He leans down slowly, deliberately, and takes Peter's cheek in a tender palm before striking the bag out of his grip with his other hand.

Peter flinches against the wall. 

Hits his head on the drywall.

Drops the bag with a quiet thud.

Harley looks down, ready to see evidence of Peter's latest love affair, and finds a box of spilled chocolates and a white note with his name written in gold cursive.

_Oh, no._

"I've been working extra shifts to save up for your Christmas gift," Peter says quietly. Harley steps back, releases his cheek in shock, and watches as Peter cradles the back of his head with both hands. Winces. There's a dent in the wall where he'd hit it. "That's why I've been out of the house so often."

He's made a mistake, he's made a mistake, he's made a _mistake-_

"Ned and Michelle were helping me," he continues. There are tears in his eyes and tremors in his voice, and they're threatening to spill over. "I was making plans for a big date or something to surprise you." Pause. "I couldn't afford it. But I really, _really_ wanted to do something special for you. So I had to get a second job."

"That's- that's why you were coming home late?" Harley asks. He's shaking now, full-body tremors racking his muscles, and he wants to vomit. There's a _dent in their wall_ because he'd scared Peter so badly. What kind of a boyfriend is he?

"I- uh-" And Peter's crying now, still pressed up against the wall. The tip of his nose is red. "I'm sorry I haven't been the partner you deserve, Harls- uh, Harley."

_God, God, what's happening, what has he done-_

"Peter," Harley stammers, stepping forward and wincing when Peter twitches. The chocolates are forgotten on the floor, scattered across the tile floor next to the note. He can see paragraphs upon paragraphs of black script on the inside, can't make out any words.

"I'm- I'm going to leave." A tear drips onto his pale blue shirt; it's taken until now for Harley to realize that it's _his shirt._ "I'll drop all of your stuff by later this week, and you- you can have the money I made if you need it for rent. It was- it was for you, anyways." He takes a deep breath, and Harley doesn't miss the way his hands are shaking as he leans down to gather up the chocolates on the floor. 

"Peter, please-"

He finishes placing them back in their box and presses it into Harley's hands as gently as he can, note settled on top. Peter's crying openly now, pressing his lips together into a firm line, but he can't seem to meet Harley's eyes.

"I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you," he whispers. 

And then he leaves, and Harley- even though he knows that May doesn't live in the city anymore and Peter doesn't have a car or a reliable place to stay, because all of his things are here and this is his home- lets him.

He lets him leave, and he hates himself for it.

-

_Dear Harley,_

_I know I haven't been the best boyfriend for the past few weeks and I'm not about to try to make any excuses, but I wanted to explain myself._

_Your Christmas gift is something that I can't buy with my current income. I'm working two jobs right now, one so I can pay my half of the rent and the other so I can save up for it and get it in time. I know you don't want anything expensive, but you're worth it._

_I care about you more than I care about anyone else in this world other than May, and she doesn't really count because she's my aunt. I want you to know that._

_These are an apology for being so absent for so long. I really am sorry, Harley, and I hope you can forgive me._

_I love you._

_\- Your Peter :)_

-

The chocolate box sits on Harley's counter for a week, the note next to it after being read. He can't bring himself to touch it, can't eat it, because it still smells like Peter's cologne and his sheets smell like Peter and the _damn couch smells like Peter._

Harley hadn't realized how present Peter was, even though he wasn't always there. 

They don't speak, even though he comes by to pick up a suitcase full of clothes after three days and drops a load of clean clothes neatly on the couch. It's a silent exchange, quick and cold, and Harley can't look him in the eyes because he can hear Peter crying.

He reads the note.

He doesn't say anything about it, though.

_Peter said it first. Peter said it first and then left him. Peter said it first and he chased him off._

Harley can't patch the dent in their wall. Can't look at it, really, because it's just another reminder that he's just like his father. He hurts the people he loves, makes them leave. Scares them.

Peter doesn't reply to his 'can we talk' text. 

Harley doesn't blame him.

Wind rustles across the rooftop of his apartment building. He's dangling his feet over its side, looking down into thin air with his coat pulled tight around his shoulders in the cold December breeze. The stars are twinkling merrily overhead despite the forecast of Christmas snow.

That feeling of hollowness keeps multiplying. Losing Peter's only made it worse; it's all-consuming and, in the end, he doesn't have a chance. He can't fight it. Can't control it.

_He never had a chance._

The sound of a light impact echoes across the empty rooftop. Harley jumps, surprised, and turns to see Spider-Man in all his red and blue glory, watching him nervously from a few feet away.

He raises a hand in a feeble wave before looking away.

"Are you okay?" Spider-Man asks, voice shaky and nervous. "Would you mind backing up from the edge for a second?"

Harley laughs coldly and shakes his head, baring his teeth in a way that he knows looks vaguely feral. "'m not gonna jump, dude. Calm down."

The hero doesn't _look_ calm- in fact, he looks the opposite. His comically large white bug-eyes widen, dilate, widen again. 

"If you're not going to move, can I sit with you?"

Harley shrugs and gestures at the edge beside him. "Free country. Help yourself, man, it's not my rooftop."

There's no answer, but the slight shift in the air to his left tells him that Spider-Man's going to take his offer. He sits sloppily on the concrete, a few feet away from Harley's leg, gangly limbs thrown about like some sort of giant bug. It's a fitting comparison, really. Harley mentally pats himself on the back.

_He's hilarious._

"So," Spider-Man says, awkwardly clearing his throat. "What brings you to the rooftops on a fine night like this?"

His voice sounds... familiar. It sends a rush of endorphins flooding through Harley's brain- somehow, this complete stranger feels like late nights on the couch and crackling fireplaces and woolly blankets.

For some reason, he reminds him painfully of Peter.

Harley shrugs, reaches up to run a finger through his wind-tossed curls. "I made a mistake and now I'm paying for it."

There's a moment of quiet. Spider-Man's eyes seem to blink, as quick as lighting, before he hikes his shoulders up to his ears and shrinks in on himself. _A dying spider, Harley thinks. Scared._

"So did I. I- uh, I get it, dude. It sucks."

_Why is his voice so damn familiar?_

"Yeah?" Harley asks. His voice is choked and tired and all he wants to do right now is to cry. "What'd you do?"

Another shrug. "I guess I just... didn't realize how much I was neglecting the people I loved. They told me- told me to leave, and I did. I just- I- uh-"

It's a sudden, barely-thought-out movement, but Harley finds that he doesn't really care for thinking things out anymore. He reaches out with the arm closest to Spider-Man and, scooting closer to him with a careful eye on the street below, slings it around his shoulders before pulling him into a half-hug.

He feels _so_ familiar. His shoulders seem to fit perfectly under Harley's arm, and when Spider-Man takes it one step further and tucks his head under Harley's chin, it feels _right._ He's met with a rush of happiness that he hasn't felt since Peter left (since he _made_ him leave).

"My boyfriend," Harley says with a sniff, "started coming home late an' cancelin' dinner dates, so I got it through my head that he was cheatin'. I couldn't deal with my feelings and didn't really bother to sit down an' talk it out, so. I chased 'im off."

Spider-Man is understandably stiff in Harley's arms, but he doesn't try to pull away, so he assumes that it's alright for him to continue. He takes a deep breath and feels the way his new cuddle buddy breathes with him (familiar, familiar, familiar).

"I scared 'im so bad, man," he says thickly. "He hit his head on a wall. There's a _dent_ in my kitchen wall from how hard he flinched an' I can't make myself fill it in 'cause every time I look at it, I think of how scared he looked."

There's a moment of silence between the two. Overhead, the stars are still shining clear through a few wispy clouds. Lights in nearby apartments keep steadily turning off until, after what seems like hours, everything is dark and quiet and still.

Overwhelmingly still.

Spider-Man is the first to move, gently pulling away from Harley and turning to face him. His shoulders are shaking- though, from the cold or tears, he doesn't know.

"I can't do this," he whispers. His voice is muffled, tired, dejected. "I can't do this, Harley."

"What?" Harley asks, aghast. 

"It's not right."

And then, slowly, inch by inch, Spider-Man reaches up. Gloved fingers find the crease between his mask and his suit. He begins to pull it away from his face.

Harley watches, eyes wide, as pale skin and tear-stained cheeks and deep brown (deeply scared, oh _so scared_ ) eyes come into view. Peter pulls the mast off of his head with little resistance, sweeping a host of unruly chestnut curls out of his eyes.

They're shimmering with tears, Harley notices. More tears yet to come.

He's crying, too.

"Peter?" He asks, furrowing his brow. "You're-"

"Spider-Man." Peter looks so ashamed, turning his chin away to hide his face. He looks like he's bracing for a punch; maybe he thinks Harley's going to hit him? God, no, Harley could never. Harley could _never hurt this boy._

"I'm so sorry," Peter murmurs, head still downturned. "I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I just- I didn't want you to get hurt, Harley. You needed to be _safe_ and I'm sorry I missed all those dates and told you I couldn't go out but I'd _never_ cheat on you, _never in a million years,_ please just-"

" _Peter,_ " Harley gasps, hands darting out to cup his ex-boyfriend's (boyfriend?) cheeks. He gently tilts his face upward until they make eye contact, and he winces when he sees that there are new tears speckling Peter's face. He takes a moment to just... look. To take in _Peter,_ in all of his glory, in everything that he's missed so dearly.

Peter is Spider-Man. He'd missed those dates because he was _saving people_ , had probably been talking to Ned because Ned was his best friend and he _obviously knew._ He'd kept it a secret to avoid _hurting_ Harley, and those nighttime escapades- those were _patrols._

"Oh my God," he chokes out, bringing a thumb up to brush a tear away. "You- you're _saving people,_ Peter."

He dives in for the kiss as quickly as he can, terrified to miss this moment. One hand shifts from Peter's cheek to the back of his neck, the other to his lower back, gently pulling him closer as their lips meet and Harley tastes salt. For a second, Peter is breathtakingly still and Harley wonders if he's made a mistake, but no, he's relaxing and reaching up to brush his hands against his chest, his arms, his shoulders.

Peter pulls an elbow around Harley's neck. As carefully as they can, lips still locked, they maneuver away from the edge in tandem before breaking away.

The stars are in Peter's eyes. Harley suspects that his are the same.

"I'm sorry," Peter says again. This time, he's not crying.

"Please," Harley murmurs, filled with love for the _boy_ he loves, "don't be."

Peter surges forward, lips pressed onto Harley yet again, and just like that, he slots right back into his life.

They're like a puzzle. Harley's just glad he found the piece he was missing.


End file.
